What If
by Jackie The Half-Blood Lion
Summary: A slight AU to the bathroom scene in the sixth book. Harry and Draco talk instead of fight and the outcome is not a snarky argument. Rated T for slight mention of abuse.


**Okay, guys. I'm really sorry about not updating my other stories, but I jot them all down on my phone and the charger broke. So now I'm using a backup which I can't access my notes on, so you'll have to bear with me I'm afraid. **

**Anyway, enjoy this little oneshot xxx**

Harry frowned, turning away from Katie and looked straight into the grey eyes of a certain Slytherin. Malfoy took a step back at the stormy expression on his rivals face and fled from the Great Hall. Unwilling to let his nemesis escape easily, Harry followed. He trailed the blonde to the second floor bathroom, Myrtle's bathroom. Malfoy was slumped over a sink, coincidentally the same sink Harry had used to open the Chamber of Secrets four years ago. Harry stood in the doorway, suddenly unsure.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's head whipped round and the Gryffindor was shocked to see tears streaming down his face. His silver-blonde hair was mussed up not at all like his usual sleek tresses. His stride, instead of his normal graceful swagger was more like a staggering lurch.

"Go away, Potter" he choked, turning back to the sink and attempting to turn the tap on.

Harry would have been glad to, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, he dropped his bag, stepped forwards and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. The boy appeared too miserable to care, still twisting the tap handle.

"That one doesn't work" Harry found himself saying, leading the Slytherin to another sink. "It's the one that leads to the Chamber of Secrets and I'd rather keep it closed."

Draco nodded weakly. A cold shiver ran down Harry's spine as he turned the replacement tap on, the kind that only the dead can invoke. Turning, he found the bathroom's only inhabitant floating in front of him, head tilted curiously.

"Myrtle, would you do me a favour and guard the door?" asked Harry hesitantly, careful not to give the ghostette anything to wail about.

"Okay" Myrtle sighed. "But you did say you would visit me. I haven't seen you in two years."

"Sorry, I've been busy. But..." he added hastily as her bottom lip began to tremble. "I swear that once I have finished school, I will visit you every year and we can have a nice long chat. If I'm not dead by then anyway."

This made Myrtle very happy indeed and she hummed as she drifted towards the door. Harry blew out a big breath, relieved to have diverted a potentially disastrous situation, and focused on the bigger problem, what he was going to do about Malfoy. The boy in question was slouched on the filthy floor, tracing patterns in the rusty water and hiccupping. It was a pathetic sight really.

"Why are you crying?" Harry asked gently, deciding that it was the best thing to start with.

"Why would you care?" groaned the Slytherin, dropping his head into his hands.

"Because no matter how much I may hate you, you are still a person and obviously unsettled by something" Harry replied without thinking.

Draco blinked at the honest answer, staring into the compassionate emerald eyes which were watching him cautiously.

"Dobby..." muttered Harry after a few seconds.

"What?"

A loud crack resounded through the bathroom as a house elf apparated in.

"Harry Potter, sir!" the creature squealed, throwing itself onto the bemused black-haired boy. "Dobby has not seen Harry Potter in so long, Dobby was wondering whether he should visit, but Harry Potter is calling Dobby to him!"

"Okay, Dobby, let's not get too excited just yet" smiled Harry, untangling the elf from his middle. "I actually have a bit of a job for you."

"Dobby will be doing his best for you, Harry Potter sir" nodded Dobby, his large, leathery ears flapping wildly.

"Can you get us some tissues, a couple of chairs and some butterbeer? Oh and please stop calling me sir."

Dobby smiled shyly and shuffled his feet.

"Of course..."

"Just Harry is fine" supplied the boy.

"Of course, Master Harry!" Dobby cried gleefully and apparated away.

Draco watched this exchange with a strange fascination and something close to surprise. He had never before seen anyone else being kind to house-elves, aside from Hermione Granger, who created S.P.E.W in fourth year. Having been raised by one, Draco himself couldn't bear to treat the little servants like his father. He had never raised a hand to any of them. He had also though Potter an arrogant toerag who would take advantage of house-elves. But here he was, not only asking a house-elf rather than demanding, but asking that the house-elf call him by his first name.

_Harry_. He rolled the name around his mind like a ball until Dobby returned. He came to the conclusion that Harry was a good name. One that suited The Boy Who Lived. He then deduced that he was delusional and was in desperate need of some therapy. He shook his head wearily.

The eager creature reappeared with two squashy armchairs and a small coffee table with two bottles of butterbeer and a box of tissues on the top. Draco shuffled over and grabbed a handful of tissues, pressing them to his streaming eyes. Harry sank into one of the chairs slowly, still watching his enemy. Draco took a breath, trying to calm his mind.

"Why are you helping me?"

Harry stayed silent for a while, thinking the question over.

"Because..." he said slowly. "It's the right thing to do."

"No it's not!" Draco screamed. "You have to leave me alone!"

"Why?" Harry pressed. "What's he making you do?"

"How do you know?" the blonde gulped, calmed by the other boy's patience. "What makes you think he's making me do anything?"

"A combination of things really" shrugged Harry. "Your behaviour, Katie's incident, and this."

He tapped his scar with one finger. Draco's eyes widened.

"What?"

"There's a connection between my mind and his" Harry explained reluctantly. "I can see what he's doing when he's emotional. Angry or elated."

Draco just stared. Harry shifted uncomfortably, unused to this particular person gaping at his scar. Normally, that Slytherin would stare Harry down, straight in his eyes. The stormy grey usually never left his own green when they were having a stand-off.

"Why don't you take a picture" he muttered self-consciously. "It might last longer."

"Sorry."

Draco looked away, then realised what he had just said. Had he just apologised to Scarhead? It didn't really matter, no one would believe it if the other boy decided to shout about it.

"Okay, you don't have to talk about it, but at least hear me out" Harry sighed. "You have a choice."

Draco went to interrupt, but the Gryffindor held up a finger, shocking the boy into silence.

"You have a choice, whether you realise it or not. You may have to stay in the ranks of the Death Eaters, but it doesn't mean you can't do your own little bit. I know Mr Malfoy abuses you, and the other Death eaters too probably."

Harry knew this because of the number of small white scars accumulating on Draco's already pale skin. Slowly, like he was trying not to startle a rabbit, he reached into his robe pocket and drew out his wand. He smiled slightly at the warm wood and then pointed it at the frozen blonde.

"Tollere fulgor" he murmured and the glamour covering Draco dissolved with a sigh.

Fresh nicks peppered Draco's face, red and weeping. A long pink line appeared on the back of his left hand and a round white scar faded onto the underside of his chin. Harry absorbed the wounds with sad eyes, knowing how hard it must have been to hide all that. Draco looked down ashamedly, thinking that the Gryffindor would leave him for sure now. To his mild surprise, he didn't.

"I know what you're going through," Harry carried on. "Because I live with the Dursleys, and you wouldn't believe the stuff they made five year old me do, famous or not. There are people who can help you, or at least you can talk to. I'm willing to listen, even if no one else is. You may not want to talk and that's fine, just think about what you're doing before you actually do it. Think about whether you have to do it, or how you can improve the situation."

"I have a choice?" Draco whispered.

"Always" Harry nodded.

It wasn't until then that both of them noticed that they were leaning in towards each other. Neither of them wanted to move away, their faces just six inches from each other. Harry was thinking how probable it was that Malfoy was suddenly going to snap and shove him away, while Draco was observing how good Harry smelled, a bit like toffee.

A scream from Myrtle snapped them out of their reverie, both resting on the backs of their armchairs.

Severus Snape glided in, robes billowing like bat wings, eyes narrowed.

"What exactly is Miss Myrtle doing outside guarding the door?" he drawled.

"I asked her to" Harry replied shortly.

"Any why is that?"

"Because I was talking to Malfoy and didn't want to be disturbed. Not that it worked."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for mouthing off at a teacher" Snape intoned. "Mr Malfoy, is what Potter said true?"

Draco glanced from his favourite professor to the boy who knew most about him. The mess of his mind scrabbled to reorganise and formulate a response.

"Yes" he nodded after a second. "It's true, Potter wanted to tell me something."

"Well, you've said it, so go to your next lesson. Transfiguration, I believe. I do not think Professor McGonagall would be pleased if you dawdled" sneered Snape. "And nor will I."

Harry glowered at him as he picked up his bag and exited.

"Thanks Myrtle" he muttered as he walked past the tearful ghost. "See you later."

"Bye, Harry" she called mournfully.

Harry frowned and headed to Transfiguration, registering that he was in fact late for his lesson.

Snape watched him go with black, unfeeling eyes. When the boy was gone, he turned his calculating gaze upon Draco. The Slytherin Prince was staring after the other student, expression unusually unguarded.

"Draco" Snape said. "What happened here? What did Potter want?"

"That's not your business" Draco snapped, pulling his eyes from the door. "I told you before I don't need your help!"

"You don't think that now, but what about when the Dark Lord finds out about this" hissed Snape. "I very much doubt he will be pleased."

"He won't find out" retorted Draco. "Why do you hate Potter so much anyway? You always seem to target him."

"A long dead secret" replied Snape morosely.

Blinking quickly, Snape exited, robes billowing as grandly as when he came in. Draco took a second to replace the glamours across his body and followed the teacher to his next lesson. He pondered a few matters throughout Defense Against the Dark Arts, like what was up with Snape, Harry's offer to talk, and finally how Draco himself had almost defended The Boy Who Lived. He had no idea why he had done it. By the time dinner came around, Pansy was quite worried, having not heard Draco speak a word since the bathroom. As the Slytherin Prince climbed into bed, he decided the lapse in his confidence had triggered the entire scene, so he should forget about it and get on with life.

He drifted into uneasy sleep, the dark clouds of nightmares filling his mind, penetrated only by the green gaze of a certain Gryffindor.

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**There is possibly going to be a sequel, so if you liked it, stay tuned!**


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